


Coarse Grind

by VerdantVulpus



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Porno Plot, Biting, Crowley is Begging for Trouble, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Excellent Hand Crafted Beverages, Good Omens Bingo, M/M, Rimming, Rough Sex, Top Aziraphale, angry angel, bottom Crowley, coffee shop AU, food safety violations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29452188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantVulpus/pseuds/VerdantVulpus
Summary: Crowley has made a habit of teasing the handsome small appliance repairman who worked across from his café. It was damn near his favourite thing. But when his espresso machine dies and needs emergency repairs, Crowley finds himself needing Aziraphale's help. It wasnt like he was too disappointed for an excuse to get the blonde alone.Or...Flirty Redhead is desperate to get railed by the the cute repair man.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 284
Collections: Ineffablexxx - Directors Cut, Top Aziraphale Recs





	Coarse Grind

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Bingo prompt Coffee Shop AU, and is part of the [Bingo Events Fic here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28906692/chapters/70918587) but I wanted it separated so I could enter the porno collection. Me and my FOMO.
> 
> Please forgive any typos or weird autocorrects. I wrote this on my phone...

"Every bloody time," Aziraphale grumbled, glaring at his takeaway coffee. There, in swooping black script read _‘Ezrafail’_ and a phone number. He wasn't surprised by this anymore but he couldn't help but be annoyed.

He harrumphed as he dropped into his threadbare seat behind his work surface. He couldn't help but look up from the toaster oven to stare daggers out his front window at the flash coffee shop across the street.

He'd been frequenting _Cinnamon Demon_ ever since the café opened across from his small appliance repair shop. At first he'd been delighted to learn he could soon get handcrafted beverages on his breaks. That was before he met the proprietor, Crowley. 

The redhead had a penchant for taking his glee at Aziraphale's expense, calling him by a new name every time with a sly smile. Aziraphale hadn't thought anything of it the first time it happened, the cafe had been busy and loud and his name was unusual. It made sense that Crowley may have misheard him, and Aziraphale had been so captivated by the gorgeous man with his cool dark glasses and his flirty grin, that he honestly didn't notice his cup said 'Ambrose' until later in the day.

He'd made it a point to correct Crowley a number of times and it quickly became apparent that the dashed bastard was doing it purposely to get a ride out of him. There was a new A-name on his cup every day, and none of them said 'Aziraphale'. Now they weren't even real names! It was nearly enough to deny Crowley his patronage, if it weren't for the fact that he made such a singular hazelnut mocha and his ginger molasses biscuits weren't simply to die for.

He often scolded himself for letting the slender viper wind him up so over something as slight as the name scrawled on a piece of soon-to-be recycling. It certainly wasn’t clear how much malice Crowley intended with his teasing either. The last month his spelling gaffs had been accompanied by a tantalizing series of digits which, paired with the flirtatious smile and occasional appraising glance, seemed to indicate that the red head was interested in a bit more than this little game.

Aziraphale ghosted his thumb over the numbers, memorizing them all over again while he imagined running his fingers through that artfully tousled copper hair. It was short at the back and sides, but long enough on top that Aziraphale could get a proper grip while he nudged Crowley’s legs apart with his knee. He’d take those expensive glasses off and watch those honey coloured eyes go wide, pupils blown as Aziraphale drew him out of those ridiculously tight jeans.

He groaned, shifting on his chair as his cock twitched. No. This was all too likely nothing but another game to the mischievous Crowley. As sweet as the number seemed, it was still scrawled under _‘Ezrafail’_.

Aziraphale had met more than enough Crowleys in his lifetime. He’d gone to school with scads of his type, snickering over the mouthful of his name, suggesting his parents must have hated him if they named him something so odd and ridiculous.

The thing was, Aziraphale liked his name very much. He had been named after his grandfather, who had been a kind and fiercely intelligent man. He’d taught his namesake to play chess, to appreciate fine cheese, and how to take apart and reassemble the toaster, the air conditioner, the coffee maker. This had been his shop before he passed away, leaving it to him. Aziraphale was proud of his name.

And thus he was at an impasse. Despite his wounded pride, he’d no doubt continue his daily pilgrimage to Cinnamon Demon for his delicious treats. And Crowley would no doubt continue to be beautifully tempting and horribly infuriating.

He took a techy bite of his biscuit. “One of these days I’ll give that man a piece of his mind,” he grumbled, picking up his tools and resuming his work on the toaster. _Or maybe give him a piece of something else…_ He couldn’t help but glance again at the numbers on his cup though, his imagination picking up where it had left off.

  
  


********

It had been a long bloody day and it was barely half passed two! Crowley stretched his back, hearing a heavy clunk from his hip popping back into place, and feeling several more pops along his spine. Just about everything that could go wrong had decided that today was their day.

There had been some ridiculous mix up at the bank, and then he received a call that his dairy order was delayed until the end of the week. He’d nearly screamed the blokes ear off. How was he supposed to continue operating for the week without his dairy order! After nearly having to threaten everything and everyone this wanker cared about, the order was now coming tomorrow, but that still left things tight. And there had just been one terribly rude, miserable shite-for-brain customer after the other today. Demanding and impatient and quick to take their bad moods out on anyone wearing an apron.

And Aziraphale hadn’t come in yet.

Crowley sighed, pouting slightly as he eyed the appliance repair shop through his window. Aziraphale always took his break at two o’clock. Crowley could have set his watch by it. He had set aside a biscuit and some of his dwindling cream supply just for the angelic blonde. Where was he? Was he not coming? Was he sick? Crowley chewed his lip. _Had_ _he_ _decided_ _he’d_ _had_ _enough_ _of_ _Crowley’s_ _teasing?_

He knew he should have stopped a while ago, six months was long past the amount of time a joke could stay funny, and it had been pretty obvious Aziraphale wasn’t amused from the get go. He meant to stop. He did. Every day he told himself to just write it properly and then maybe the bloke might actually call the number he desperately scrawled on his cup everyday.

But then Aziraphale would come in with a fussy bowtie paired with his button up workshirt and Crowley couldn’t help himself. 

_I’ll do it right this time,_ Crowley bargained with any entity that might care enough to listen. _Give me another chance and I’ll be sweet as honey. I swear it._

And then, as if by divine providence, Aziraphale emerged from his shop and jogged across the street. Crowley grinned excitedly, kissing his fingers to the heavens and scurried into action.

“Oi! Ana! Aziraphale’s on the way. Get that ginge-mo in the toaster.”

Anathema rolled her eyes but took the last ginger molasses biscuit that Crowley had set aside and started warming it up. 

“Maybe you could ask him to take a look at Beez,” Ana suggested, and Crowley snorted. He wasn’t going to ask his angel for any favours. He knew he was on thin ice. The cantankerous espresso machine would be all right. It just needed to be descaled. Crowley would get to it this evening.

“Afternoon, Angel,” Crowley purred as the blonde approached the counter.

“Aziraphale,” he growled back, and Crowley shivered. Oh no. This wasn’t good. Why was he so hot when he was mad?

The thing is, he liked Aziraphale. He really _really_ liked him. Back when he would linger in the cafe, Crowley used to listen in while the repairman chatted with the other customers. He knew nearly everyone who worked in this neighbourhood, and everyone liked him. He was witty and kindhearted, he was handsome, and he was damned good at what he did. He enjoyed his work. He enjoyed fixing broken things. Crowley tried not to think too hard about why he found that so appealing.

“One medium mocha with two pumps of hazelnut and a ginger molasses biscuit coming right up,” Crowley grinned, knowing it was a little too wide. 

_Behave,_ he ordered himself as he reached for the paper cup and a marker. He flicked his gaze back to Aziraphale and his breath caught. The beautiful man was glaring at him suspiciously and the sharpness in those hazel eyes made Crowley’s knees weak and his cock harden. He knew he was supposed to be being good (he’d made a deal with an unknown entity after all) but he couldn’t help how hot Aziraphale was when he was angry. The slightly round, normally jovial, fluffy haired cherub suddenly looked steely. Crowley knew he was strong, he’d admired the man’s muscular forearms nearly everyday for half a year, and the thought of his angel snapping and holding him down hard as he fucked Crowley blind was a near constant fantasy.

And so he bit his lip, trembling in anticipation as he once again wrote his number under the name ‘ _Zirfoal’._ He made the mocha with care and handed it and the warmed biscuit to Aziraphale while holding his breath.

Aziraphale glanced at the cup then gave Crowley a look that should have vaporized him. Crowley was aching. “Something wrong?” he asked sweetly.

“This isn’t my name,” Aziraphale seethed, and to Crowley’s surprise, handed the cup back. Crowley frowned, confused, and then nearly died when Aziraphale continued with a stern, “Give me a new cup.”

“The drink’s right, eh?” Crowley smirked, his heart beating wildly from _that voice_. “I’d have to throw the cup out. Bit wasteful, innit?”

“Then perhaps you should take more care next time,” Aziraphale chided. “I’d like a new cup, with my name properly spelled this time, thank you.”

“As you like,” Crowley forced himself to grin, swallowing the groan that threatened to escape his throat. He set the drink aside and made new mocha (he couldn’t simply pour it into a new cup. The whipped cream would be a mess and he had standards), and took a steadying breath. He tried pretending Aziraphale was just another demanding over-the-top customer like everyone else had been today, but he knew full well that none of the other rude customers had given him a weeping erection like the one currently dampening his pants.

_“Shhhiiiiitttt…”_ he sighed as he wrote out the name and handed it back with a weak grin. Aziraphale took one look at it, saw that it now read _‘Arsnop_ ’, then wordlessly put it on the counter again and walked out of the cafe.

“I know that it probably isn’t the best idea to insult one’s boss,” Anathema told him casually. “But what the fuck is the matter with you?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Crowley sighed.

There was a disconcerting clanking sound followed by an even more unnerving hiss and both Crowley and Anathema turned to watch the great beast that was Beelzebub the espresso machine give up the ghost. She died with a spluttering cough and a cloud of acrid smelling smoke. Crowley quickly unplugged her from the wall as Anathema started waving the smoke away with a paper plate.

 _Needed a bit more than a bit of descaling, it seems,_ Crowley thought bitterly. What a fucking miserable damn day.

******

“Good afternoon. Aziraphale’s Appliance,” Aziraphale greeted brightly as he answered the telephone. He was in an absolute rubbish mood but he’d be damned if he ever answered the telephone with anything but his most professionally friendly tone. “How can I help you?”

“Hey, Angel,” a sheepish voice said. “It’s Crowley, from across the street.”

Aziraphale felt his heart begin to hammer uncomfortably against his ribs. Why on earth was Crowley telephoning him? Was he going to apologize? Was Aziraphale’s show of displeasure enough to make the troublesome ginger grow a modicum of professionalism? Why did that make Aziraphale feel suddenly conflicted. He’d just made up his mind to never set foot in Cinnamon Demon again, and this would save him having to keep his word to himself. It would be lovely to get his coffee everyday without a side order of aggravation…

And yet, there was something bitter sweet about having Crowley give up the game…

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked nervously when the silence had stretched too long.

“So you do know my name,” Aziraphale responded coldly. “What can I do for you, Mr. Crowley.”

Aziraphale knew he was being a bastard by using the title before Crowley’s surname. Crowley had been quite clear he preferred his name without it. _See how he likes it._

“Yeah, Look. I need a favour,” Crowley began, and the hesitation in his voice showed that he fully expected Aziraphale to laugh at him. Aziraphale did not disappoint him.

“Oh ho, a favour? Shall I see if Arnold, or Amos are in? Or I could send Arsnop later this week.”

“My espresso machine just gave a horrible death wail and started spewing smoke,” Crowley whined. “I’m having to make due with one machine but there is no way I’ll be able to handle the morning rush without Beelzebub.”

“Dreadful luck,” Aziraphale replied dryly. “I’m afraid my calendar is rather full though…”

“Come after closing,” Crowley begged. “That way I can make room for you behind the counter and you won’t have Ana and I in the way.”

“And why would I spend my free time helping someone who can’t seem to be bothered getting my name right?” Aziraphale asked, although he was already writing Crowley’s name into his schedule. He’d seen the number of customers the cafe got in the morning. Crowley was indeed in a bind and Aziraphale wasn’t the kind of person to withhold his help, even from malicious tricksters.

“If you do this for me, I’ll make it worth your while,” Crowley whispered across the line and Aziraphale nearly swallowed his tongue.

“I… I _do_ normally charge a bit extra for emergency cases,” he replied after catching his breath.

“Sure. No problem, angel,” Crowley rushed on, sounding a bit breathless himself. “Just please, _please_ , promise me you’ll come over tonight.”

******

Crowley sat on the counter and forced his legs to stay still as he watched Aziraphale work. They wanted to bounce around, be a conduit for his nervous energy. They wanted to toe off his rubber soled shoes and run his foot over the hard line of Aziraphale’s shoulder. They wanted to spread apart, lewdly. Crowley forced them to stay perfectly still.

He didn’t control his gaze though. He’d removed his glasses now that the sun had gone down, and he wasn’t ashamed if Aziraphale caught him staring. He wanted to get caught. Now that Aziraphale was on his hands and knees, elbow deep in his coffee maker, Crowley was suddenly desperate to end the farce. Aziraphale had to know Crowley wanted him, right? He hadn’t exactly been subtle with the phone number and all.

“Wot’s done her in?” he asked finally, unable to take the silence any longer.

“Age, most likely,” Aziraphale replied. “Some of the parts are corroded, but I can replace them for you tonight.”

_Thank fucking god!_ Crowley inwardly cheered. “You have the parts for this ancient coffee maker in your shop?” Crowley asked, surprised.

“The nice thing about these older machines is that they don’t use a bunch of proprietary nonsense. That makes them easier and cheaper to repair. If you keep this machine well maintained, it should last you forever.”

“That’s good. Beez here is a member of the family,” Crowley laughed. Aziraphale lifted his head and smiled at him, his whole face lighting up. He was breathtaking. Crowley’s legs wanted to wrap around his shoulders, hug his head with his thighs…

“These appliances really can be so meaningful, can’t they?” Aziraphale sighed. “The disposable economy has robbed us of good quality machines like this. Planned obsolescence is such a miserable curse on society.”

“Right. Capitalism. Boo,” Crowley snorted. “Although, I do fancy making money so…”

“Quite,” Aziraphale nodded, blushing slightly. “I’ll just pop back to the shop and grab what I need then I’ll fix your machine up so you can get back to money making in the morning.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale go until the blonde disappeared into his shop. That smile. That smile had nearly been as brilliant as his scowl. Crowley was achingly hard and desperate for a wank, but he doubted he had enough time to knock one off before Aziraphale returned.

Sure enough, the angel of small appliance repair was back mere minutes later, sleeves rolled up and eyes focused, the posterboy of competence.

Crowley bit his lip as a small bead of sweat slowly rolled down Aziraphale’s temple. If he didn’t seduce this man tonight he was absolutely going to die of horniness. He quickly fixed his hair in the reflection from the other machine’s chrome surface, and then sank into a wide legged crouch beside the blonde. Aziraphale looked at him, his hazel eyes lingering slightly over the bulge in Crowley’s jeans before he blushed and turned back to his work. 

“Can I make you a drink?” Crowley asked, keeping his voice pitched low. “Seems like that’s the least I can do.”

“Not necessary,” Aziraphale replied, glancing up at Crowley, and then quickly looking away. “After all, I will be charging you for my time.”

“I didn’t mean _in_ _lieu_ of payment, Angel,” Crowley smirked. “You’re saving my skin here. I guarantee to pay you back to your _full_ satisfaction.”

Aziraphale looked at him again, and while he was still blushing a bit, he held Crowley’s gaze with confidence.

“It takes quite a bit to satisfy me, Crowley,” Aziraphale responded in a low, sensual voice of his own and Crowley nearly fell over. “You should be careful about the guarantees you make.”

Crowley was about to combust, he was so turned on. “C’mon angel,” he purred. “I can serve you up something hot and sweet that will scratch every one of your itches. Got plenty of whipped cream left. Been rationing it all day but I’ll use it all up for you.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale growled and Crowley shuddered at the lust finally blooming in those darkening eyes. “I’ll ask you to be very careful about how you proceed. The way you’ve been mocking me for months, I'm nearly at my wits end."

"Oh?" Crowley smirked. "And wot happens when that tightly wound shell of politeness finally snaps?"

"Let's just say there is a very good chance you'll be walking with a limp tomorrow," Aziraphale told him and Crowley groaned.

"Gotta be honest. I'm not sure if you just threatened me, or if you threatened me _with a good time_ ," Crowley murmured, licking his suddenly dry lips. His heart nearly stopped when Aziraphale actually _winked_.

"Right," Crowley stood and sauntered over to the other machine, making sure to swing his hips to their loosest setting. "Lemme make you that drink."

Crowley made the hazelnut mocha quickly, watching Aziraphale out the corner of his eye. He was now mostly sure the angel was DTF but he needed another push.

Once the lid was safely snapped over the cup, he pulled his black Henley up over his head and picked up the whipped cream canister and chocolate drizzle. 

Aziraphale barely looked up when Crowley handed him the coffee.

"If this cup has some blasted mockery of my name on it, I will not be held responsible for my actions," he said with dark promise, turning Crowley's knees to rubber.

"Don't gotta write your name on the cup when you're the only customer, Angel," Crowley replied sweetly.

Maybe it was his too-sweet tone that did it but Aziraphale finally looked up, his eyes going wide at the whipped cream covering Crowley's nipples and the letters written across his stomach in chocolate sauce. They were a bit misshapen, but still legible.

And they spelled _'Alvin'_.

Crowley cracked the tightly wound shell of politeness and as a result found himself seized by the wrist and yanked down to his knees before the steely eyed angel.

"You're an incorrigible tease," Aziraphale growled, setting the mocha on the counter before wrapping both hands around Crowley's waist. He pulled him closer until Crowley had to widen his legs and straddle Aziraphale's knees, bowing his head back as the blonde traced the first letter with a hot tongue. 

"Finally," Crowley groaned, trying to pull Aziraphale into a kiss. Aziraphale shook out of his grip and continued cleaning his stomach with plenty of gratuitous nibbling while Crowley moaned and twitched on his lap. He gasped and swore when Aziraphale closed his lips over the whipped cream, sucking his nipple into his mouth and flicking it lightly with his tongue.

"Jesus, Angel," Crowley gasped. "That tongue of yours is...hhhHRRK!" he cut off abruptly as Aziraphale palmed his hard cock through his jeans.

"Take these off," Aziraphale ordered. "I'll show you exactly how "angelic" I am with my tongue.

"Mmnngf," Crowley groaned, standing up on shaky legs and peeling out of his jeans. His pants came off at the same time, tight as his jeans were, and his cock sprang up immediately, long and red against his pale stomach. He quickly snatched the condom he had hidden in his pocket before dropping his jeans on the floor and turning back to his angel.

Aziraphale licked his lips and beckoned him closer. Crowley's heart leapt seeing that pink tongue flash across those plush lips. He shuffled closer, eager to slide his oaken length into that gorgeous mouth.

He couldn't help the moan when Aziraphale took his jutting hip bones in strong hands, but then, to his dismay, he found himself spun around and bent over the counter. He startled at the sudden motion but Aziraphale pinned him with one hand between his shoulder blades.

"This all right?" Aziraphale asked, slowly nudging Crowley's legs apart. Crowley was pinned and exposed and extremely turned on.

"Better than," he gasped. His gasp turned into a high pitched squeal as Aziraphale bit the globe of his arse. 

"Clean?" Aziraphale asked before biting the other side.

"Yeah— ah! AH!-- I'm clean, but I've got a condom here too if you wa— aannnnkkhh…" he trailed off with a garbled groan when Aziraphale skewered him with his tongue. 

Never in all the months Crowley had teased the man has he suspected there was a sex god under the bowtie and cold manners. There was no missing it _now_ , and Crowley wouldn't ever be able to look at Aziraphale again without remembering being held down and tongue-fucked within an inch of madness. 

Crowley was a mess of hissing syllables and moans, dribbling a stream of pre-cum down his counter. He'd be here well into the wee hours deep cleaning… There wouldn't be a solvent strong enough to scour away the memory though. Aziraphale added a finger beside his finger and Crowley keened.

The bastard took his time, keeping his preparation slow and light until the pleasure began to give way to frustration.

"Damn it, Aziraphale," he snapped. "Would you fuck me already?"

"Almost ready," Aziraphale teased, nipping the underside of his arse. Crowley moaned and his grumbling turned into pleading.

"Please, Angel," he begged. "You're killing me here."

"So impatient," Aziraphale chuckled, but he finally stood, pressing his clothed erection against the curve of Crowley's arse with a lewd little grind that set Crowley on fire. He felt huge!

"Fuck yes, I'm impatient," he babbled, trying to press his hips against more of that hardness behind him. Aziraphale let him buck against him, reaching over his shoulder to take the condom out of his limp fingers. Crowley moaned at the sound of Aziraphale unzipping his flies. 

"I'm clean as well," Aziraphale continued calmly, as though he weren't affected at all. "But I think it might be tidier to use the rubber. You've already made such a mess."

"Bastard," Crowley groaned. "Hurry!"

Aziraphale rolled the condom on and then there was the wet sound of him slicking himself up with something that smelled faintly minty. 

"Did you bring lube in your tool kit?" Crowley laughed.

"I like to be prepared," Aziraphale told him, nudging against Crowley's entrance in warning before slowly pushing in. 

"You tramp," Crowley teased fondly, wriggling backwards on the thick hard cock behind him.

"Me? And where precisely did the condom materialize from?" Aziraphale teased back, before burying himself in Crowley to the root. The stretch was just shy of painful, and there was probably slightly less lubrication than was ideal, but _hot damn_ did it ever feel amazing.

"Ahh haaahhh," Crowley sighed, jaw slack with pleasure. Aziraphale groaned as he drew back slowly.

"You're so tight," he rasped. "Feels perfect. If I'd known your arse would fit my cock so exquisitely I would have done this sooner."

"Wot? Fix my sodding coffee machine?" Crowley huffed, his eyes rolling back at the slow thrust and drag lighting up his nervous system like flaring magnesium. This darling angel of a man talking dirty while he fucked him was nearly too much. "'cause you've not even finished the job yet."

"Not that favour, dear," Aziraphale growled, twisting his fingers in Crowley's hair and pulling his head back until his spine was bowed back as far as it would bend. "Tonight I'm finally going to make you spell my name properly."

"I'm— " Crowley began to protest, to insist it was just a silly joke, but then Aziraphale slammed into him hard and all the air left his lungs. Aziraphale grunted and drove in again, his bollocks slapping loudly and satisfyingly against Crowley's. The pace was brutal and perfect, hitting Crowley's prostate on every other thrust. 

"Oh _God,"_ Aziraphale gasped. "You gorgeous thing. You're taking me so well. Look at you. You're so eager for it. You've been working so hard to make this happen, haven't you?"

"Shit, yes!" Crowley cried. "Wanted you from the first day you walked in. Wanked myself to sleep thinking about your eyes, your hands on me!"

"You pushed my every button," Aziraphale growled against his neck and Crowley shivered as the hot breath ghosted over his sweat-damp skin. "You made me steaming angry, hoping I'd give you the railing you so badly needed."

"Yes! God, yes!" Crowley shouted, squirming against the blonde, trying to get his hands between his straining legs. "Let me touch myself Angel. I'm so close!"

"No," Aziraphale growled and to Crowley's dismay he dropped the hand gripping his hip to wrap his strong fingers around the base of Crowley's cock. Crowley gasped and shuddered as his orgasm melted away, held at bay by a vengeful angel.

"My name?" He asked sweetly, still pistoning his hips.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley whined, tears streaming down his face. _Fuck!_ He wanted to come so badly. He couldn't believe this was happening! He couldn't believe how much he _loved it!_

"And how is that spelled?" Aziraphale asked, pulling Crowley's hair until he was forced to look up at the man who was thoroughly devastating him.

"Ah! Ah… A! Z! Um… I? …" It was difficult to concentrate on spelling while getting pounded into one's worktop. Aziraphale hummed in approval and started stroking him in time with his powerful thrusts. "R...A… F…" the hand instantly gripped him at the base of his cock and lightly squeezed. "Ah! Fuck! _Not_ _F_! P…"

"Start again," Aziraphale ordered and Crowley wept but started over. He managed to get through the whole bloody name this time and Aziraphale finally — _finally!_ \-- showed mercy. He pumped Crowley's cock with firm strokes and, even better, he captured Crowley's gasping mouth with his own.

It was the first time he kissed him and it was hot and wet and dead sexy Crowley was coming from it as much as everything else.

He screamed Aziraphale's name, spurting down his counter in thick ropes. Aziraphale fucked him through his climax, chasing his own. Another four heavy thrusts had him groaning Crowley's name right back, collapsing over Crowley's back.

"Holy fuck," Crowley gasped against the linoleum countertop.

"Well, you _do_ call me 'Angel'." Aziraphale chuckled, and whatever frayed nerves that hadn't been melted by that coring evaporated at the warm fondness in that sound.

"It _would_ be easier to spell when we're in a rush…" Crowley smiled, wincing a bit as Aziraphale pulled out. 

"I don't think it takes _that_ long to write but I might be alright with that compromise," he murmured, tying off the condom and tossing it in the bin.

Crowley smiled, still sprawled across the counter. He decided to err on the side of letting himself cool down a bit before he risked standing on his rubbery legs.

"Are you all right? Was I too rough?"

Crowley looked over his shoulder at the blonde. He was doing up his flies, watching Crowley with what looked like genuine concern.

"You were perfect," Crowley admitted. "I think you were right about walking with a limp tomorrow but I loved every second of it."

"I did as well," Aziraphale smiled and damned if Crowley didn’t smile back like a soppy git. 

Aziraphale sipped his mocha, and chatted happily while Crowley got dressed and started cleaning up the mess they made. He emptied the bin and tossed the bag out back lest any of his employees see anything that might cause them psychic damage. When he came back out front, Aziraphale was closing Beelzebub up.

“That should do it,” the angel said proudly. “You’ll have no problems with your rush tomorrow.”

“Well, not from my machine anyway,” Crowley smirked, hoping he wasn’t blushing. 

“You look exhausted,” Aziraphale murmured, gently sliding a lock of Crowley’s hair behind his hair. “If you don’t think it too bold an offer, you’re welcome to spend the night at mine. My flat is just above my shop.

“Ngk. Really?” Crowley stammered.

“You’re certainly not obligated to,” Aziraphale said quickly. “Only, if you don’t wish to drive back home at this hour…”

“I think I’d like that,” Crowley grinned sheepishly.

“Oh. Wonderful,” Aziraphale’s grin could have rivaled the sun for lumens. Crowley’s stomach did a fluttery flip floppy thing. Unexpected, but pleasant. He liked it. He liked Aziraphale. 

He locked up the café and joined the blonde across the road. He wasn’t thinking about the screw up at the bank, or the dairy order or the slew of rude customers. He wasn’t even thinking about the beautifully satisfying pounding he’d just had, and hoped to have again very soon.

All he could think about was that sun-bright smile and ‘ _Angel_ ’ scrawled across many future coffee cups.


End file.
